These Emotions Dyed Red (Fallen London/Sunless Sea)

[UrsaTempest]

Ten years ago, London was stolen by bats.

What happened down there? You don't know. The British Empire was never the same without London, without her Empress - a little more lifeless, a touch more sluggish. Yet dark-sailed ships emerges from the underground, helping her navies. Ambassadors and Spies walk briskly, the Great Game continues apace. More, stranger entities skulks when the night comes, offering deals or gifts you can't refuse.

You, yourself, is a...

[ ] Urchin: Street is your home, abandoned building is your playground. Lately, the shadows are longer, the competition more vicious. Perhaps that's why you went to the Fallen London.
[ ] Poet: Or a Novelist. And a scholar, too. Writing is always hard - it's even harder when what seemed fantastical are actually real. Perhaps you seek the source of them - the clue can be found on Fallen London.
[ ] Hunter: Of men? Or beast? Were you hunted as well? Or are you seeking for something that can bring you fame? Fallen London certainly contains such unnatural beast!
[ ] Thief: A diamond, the size of cow! A knife, that hunger for blood! A soul, that can illuminate hell! You've heard such fascinating things on the Fallen London. Perhaps you can... take a look.

But where do you enter London?

[ ] The Cumacean Canal is located in Lake Avernus, in Southern Italy, who Roman believes an entrance to Hades. Perhaps they're not wrong.
[ ] The Travertine Spiral. A secret entrance that lead directly to- wait, how do you enter it? How do you even know about it?!
[ ] The Sinkhole that was Formerly London. Well, maybe you just want to die.

 

[UrsaTempest]

Your last novel was a failure.

How would you supposed to know the world was even stranger? No, it wasn't your fault. That's why you're here, on a small coffee shop on Vienna, Virginia. It's just after dusk - the cafe is lit in candles and gaslamps, and there are enough of your fans to fill half the shop, which you're grateful for. They seems eager.

Yes, your last novel was a failure. But the one before that? Successful enough you get mails even across the Atlantic. Enough for you to risk running a modest reading tour, which is just a bit more successful than you thought.

You looks at the crowds, trying to gauge their mood. It's no use; you're too nervous. But they've come this far, just to see you. The least you can do is giving them a show.

You step forwards, and the crowds hushed as you start reading:

Choose a second Skill that you favour. As a Poet, you start by favoring Heart. Heart is a skill for nurturing, convincing, and empathizing - having high Heart let you understand people better, writing emotionally resonant works, and convince them to your cause. But it really puts you in others' shoes - you'll cry for them, laugh with them, and angry on their behalf. At low level, you'll be dead to the world, and people will know it - you'll never came across as sincere.

[ ] "... this is my unbreakable pen; at this moment, stronger than any blade or sword." (Iron, a skill for confrontation, violence, and overpowering. High Iron make your punch actually hurts, your shooting actually kills, and cut a debate with one, well-placed withering observation. It's also associated with Toxicology, an esoteric skill for resisting and making use of toxin. Iron also makes you a prideful dick. At low level, you'll run away from confrontation, faint at a hint of blood, and utterly stumped by even a slight resistance against you.)
[ ] "... a multitude of stars as my beacon, guiding me." (Mirror, a skill for observation, investigating, and deduction. High Mirror let you analyze things, remembering things, and noticing things that may amiss. It's also associated with Glasswork, an esoteric skill regarding exploration of the world behind, well, mirror. Mirror make you a voyeur. You'll like to see things unfold, and maybe even have a hand on making it happen. At low Mirror, you'll be absent-minded, at the mercy of the 'Neath strange geography and cruel, colourful schemes.)
[ ] "... I want to show you; these emotions dyed red." (Heart, in addition to above, it's also associated with Red Science, an esoteric skill regarding hierarchy of being, natural law, and how to break them.)
[ ] "... With a smile of deception; I tear this cloth." (Veil, a skill for deceiving and evading. High Veil let you disappear in the shadow, blandly uninteresting in the light. It let you avoid confrontation and sneak by guards. It's associated with Mithridacy, an esoteric skill for hiding your intention behind words, misleading listener without single false word. Of course, it also makes you a shady dick. People might not know what you're up to, but they'll know you're up to something. At low-level, you wear your heart on your sleeve. You wouldn't be able to hide your intention or reaction. And you will be suck at card games.

It's late evening. Patrons are pouring out of the cafe, satisfied by your performance. You sit in the corner, drinking your water - your throat is still a bit sore. Across from you is the owner - a tall, muscled man, smelling faintly of sweat and coffee, his hands surprisingly smooth and nimbles as he split your share of the earning.

"And that's your part," he nods, and pushes a small hill of money. You tries not to take them all and shove them in your pocket - so far, you're successful. "Sure glad you pick this place for reading. Do you plan on doing this later?" he says.

You mulls the question. "Perhaps one more day, sir," you decide. You generally don't stay long. Already, several letters are anticipating your next reading.

He nods, solemnly. "Good. My daughter will be glad; she's fan of your work, you know," he stands, pushing the chair away, while you're _finally_ collecting your money. "Oh, one more thing," he says. "You have a guest."

You suppress a sigh. "That's alright. I assume they pay extra?" at the nod, you continue. "I'll wait, then. Thanks for your time!"

The owner ambles to the backroom, closing the door behind. And that's when your mysterious guest appear.

You know she's a trouble.

Choose your Sympathy. Sympathy is your inclination with specific class. You'll connect better with them, and observe their custom easily.

[ ] ... a black-haired woman, her face almost identical to a certain vanished British Empress, when she was young. (The Powerful: Associated with high Society, the Masters of Bazaars, the Church, the Constable, the Sommerset. You'll know who's the most powerful in the room, who's best to schmooze to get your way. You'll be social climber though; resisting such opportunity will be hard for you.)
[ ] ... a red-haired woman, her eyes are yellow, and she wears a curious ensemble that's flattering but unusual. (The Eccentric: Associated with the Bohemian, the devil of Hell, the spies of Great Game, the Tomb-Colonies, the Duchess, the Benthic. You'll know how to break the rules - and how far you can push it. You'll love to test them, though.)
[ ] ... a dark-skinned woman, wearing a surprisingly sharp, military uniform, though you don't recognize it. (The Outsider: Associated with the Criminal, the Revolutionaries, the Rubbery Men, the Dockworkers, the Widow, the Urchins. You'll know how to break the rules - profitably. Or at least to help you survive.)

 

[UrsaTempest]

She's tall, you think. Her skin is dark, her steps are sure. Her uniform is fit very well - clearly tailored for her. There's a certain vitality to her, that make her more alive somehow. When she takes a seat in front of you, her dark eyes reflects the candles' fire.

"You're a difficult woman to find," she remarks, bluntly. You blinks, and shakes your head. "I apologise," you says. "I thought my publisher had spread the brochure?"

"You do, yes. Let me rephrase: you're a difficult woman to meet," she grimaces. "I can't say I'm fan of the ship," she says, her face slightly green.

You sympathise. You clear your throat. "Well, you have my attention, I assume you want the book signed?"

"Correct," she says. She opens her coat, and bring out a book. A beaten, weathered book, slightly yellowish from water. When she put it on the table, you blink.

It's your newest novel.

"I confess, I'm a bit disappointed you don't read your newest work," she says, casually, as you reach the book, your hands trembling, and you begin inscribes your signature on the front. "I'm surprised at how accurate it is. You've never visited the Neath, right?"

You blink, and looks closer at her. Her dark skin, her strange uniform, her unusual vitality... "You're a Presbyterate!" you says, suddenly. She smiles. Then you wilts.

"Ah, I hope my depiction is alright?" you says, self-consciously. "I tried my best, but..."

She waves her hands. "Like I said, it's very accurate. Especially considering your lack of experience. How'd you came across such information, really?"

You mulls it over, and says

[ ] "I listens to the tale of sailors. It's amazing what they say. Not always accurate, but it's great lead." (+DOCK)
[ ] "I meet occasional refugee from the neath. Most of them are, you know, older Urchin, escaping London. Understandable really." (+URCHIN)
[ ] "Ironically, the Neath smugglers are actually one of the cheaper merchant. Especially their coffee." (+CRIMINAL)
[ ] "I corresponded with a curious group of scholars. We often talk about esoteric philosophy, law of chain and such." (+REVOLUTIONARIES)
[ ] "I dreamed strange things sometimes. Dead planet, spiky, thorny beings, deep in outer space. Giant bats." (+RUBBERY)

She nods. "So, my offer is simple. The Master of Bazaar-" the true rulers of Fallen London, as you understand it, " have cleared a book tour for you." You blinks.

"Pardon?"

"I want to invite you to do a tour in the Fallen London," she says, clearly taking joy at saying it. "Your works are quite cherished down there. Even the Masters likes it! If you want to, of course. What do you think?"

Obviously, you say yes.